


empty rooms that echo

by ell (amywaited)



Series: on this lonely barricade [2]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Afterlife, Comfort, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Morning, Slice of Life, Words, early morning, word emphasis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amywaited/pseuds/ell
Summary: Carlos says it again, “I love you,” and this time he’s not sure if it’s to reaffirm it to himself, or to Cecil, or just to feel the surge of energy the words produce.“I love you, too,” Cecil says. His smile is halfway to molten, and it drips so far into Carlos’s chest cavity it burns, like poison from the serpent’s mouth but he can’t get enough.Carlos bites his lip. Even his lungs seem to heave under some invisible weight.
Relationships: Carlos/Cecil Palmer
Series: on this lonely barricade [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796329
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	empty rooms that echo

**Author's Note:**

> title from [empty chairs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jtrIc8vq7wU) by don mclean.
> 
> hope u like :)

Cecil says, “I can’t imagine a world where I haven’t fallen in love with you,” one morning when the sun is halfway through the sky already. He’s standing at the stove, stirring a pot that smells distinctly like tomato but looks more like gourmet cat food. Carlos sits next to him, on the counter, balancing a cup of coffee on his thighs, and pressing the balls of his feet into Cecil’s calves. His words weigh heavy, but still, Carlos floats higher and higher. 

“What about the worlds where we’ve never met?” Carlos says. His coffee is going cold.

Cecil turns to look at him. “Then it’s not a world I’d like to concern myself with. I think I’d find you in any existence, in any capacity.”

“Even if I was nothing more than ash and dust?”

“Even then,” Cecil says. He stirs the pot once more before removing it from the heat, and absent-mindedly moves Carlos’s legs so he can access the drawers behind them. “I would gather all the dust up in a jar and sleep with it in my bed so I could still kiss you good morning.”

Carlos lets Cecil’s hands move him. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“Love can be creepy,” Cecil says. He manages to take Carlos’s mug before any of the liquid spills out of it onto the floor. Carlos wasn’t even aware he was watching for it.

“Love isn’t creepy,” he says, frowning. “Love is happy. And soft, and kind, and nice. Creepy implies it’s scary.”

“Love  _ is  _ scary,” Cecil tells him. 

Carlos falls silent then. The look Cecil gives him says everything and more; _ I know, I’m listening, it’s scary but it’s worth it, you’re worth everything. _

Sceptic that he is, Carlos accepts it at face value. He says, “I think if you were just ash and dust, I’d probably gather you up and keep you in an urn on the mantle.”

“Like I’m dead?” Cecil questions, “where’s the intimacy?”

Carlos bites his lip. He turns the stove off before Cecil can, and slides off of the counter, standing on his tiptoes so he can hook his chin over Cecil’s chin. “I don’t think even my love for you would let me put a jar of dust on my bed.”

“But would you think about it?”

“Sure,” Carlos says, “I’d think about it.”

Cecil’s smile is heartstopping. “Then that’s all that matters. Although, maybe if you kissed the urn every once in a while, it’d resurrect my ghost, and then you could love my ghost.”

“I’d rather have you, not a ghost.”

Cecil makes a considering sort of noise. “What if you had no choice?”

Carlos frowns at him. Cecil moves along the counter and starts to deposit the contents of the saucepan into a ceramic bowl. “But I don't have to choose. Not right now. I have you here, I have your tangible body, so I don’t need to think about what I might do if your spirit suddenly replaced it. And I hope you’re not planning on dying any time soon, because if that’s the case, then I think I really will keep the urn on the mantle.”

Cecil’s chuckle is beautiful and delightfully warm. He says, “I’m not planning on dying. But we should make preparations just in case, shouldn’t we?  You know how the radio station is.”

Carlos does know how the radio station is. He doesn’t like how the radio station is.

“I’d like to cross that bridge when we get to it,” he says. Thinking of Cecil’s death, of him dying, of dying together or apart, is all too much. Thinking about Cecil’s spirit, his ghost, is even more, and it weighs dreadfully over his head, like a sword just waiting to drop.

“We’ll take that road together,” Cecil says, and it sounds like a promise. It sounds so much like a promise that Carlos finds himself believing it, trusting it, even though he has no idea what the future holds, and last he checked, neither did Cecil. “I can see your doubts when they fester in your eyes, you know,” Cecil says, “you must stop letting them burrow under your skin.” He trails a finger down Carlos’s arm, as if to demonstrate his point, and leaves a row of goose pimples in his wake.

Carlos shakes his head, slowly. “You can’t see my doubts.”

“Of course, I can. You wear your heart on your sleeve, my darling.”

“My doubts aren’t that obvious, though.”

“No?” Cecil asks. He looks up from his bowl, and his eyes drill into Carlos’s. “You’re afraid of what it means to love… to love me, or to love in general? Or both. That’s understandable. Love is nothing to be taken lightly. You’re afraid of the future too. Of what might happen to you, or to me. Because Night Vale frightens you, doesn’t it?”

Carlos opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. He doesn’t say anything after all.

Cecil smiles at him. “Night Vale won’t hurt you,” he says, “nor will the future. And as long as you’re there to hold my hand, we could do anything at all.”

“I know,” Carlos whispers. He doesn’t want to say the words too loudly. “I don’t want to be scared. But I don’t want to lose you, Cecil. I don’t like it.”

“I’m perfectly safe.”

“But this is Night Vale,” Carlos says, “practically the most unsafe town in the entire continent of America. You could die tonight from a heart attack, or you could die tomorrow from a vicious ambush from some sort of mythical creature. I just want you to be okay. To always be okay.”

“I am always okay,” Cecil says, like he’s deliberately ignoring what Carlos is trying to say because he doesn’t like the answers. “But you needn’t worry, Carlos. Night Vale is perfectly safe for us. No one would dare hurt me.”

“How so?”

“I present their radio,” Cecil says, like it’s obvious. “Can you imagine the riots that would arise should someone plot my death? I dread to think.”

Carlos sighs. He sniffs and leans back against the counter. “I just want you to be safe. That’s all I want. I want you here, with me, so we can walk through the heavens together, because I don’t want to go alone.”

“I have no desire to traverse the afterlife alone, either,” Cecil says. “I’ll be waiting for you every step of the way, and I hope you will be too.”

“Of course I will,” Carlos says. He’s not sure what ideals Night Valean’s hold for their afterlives, but Carlos is pretty sure that anywhere with Cecil there will become a breeze to overcome. “I wouldn’t want to go anywhere without you.”

The smile Cecil gives him says everything and nothing at once. All blinding perfections, all gorgeous and incomprehensible. Carlos can’t identify the feeling floating around in his chest right now; just that it’s an overwhelmingly good one.

“I wouldn’t want to go anywhere without you, either,” Cecil says. His words take on a lower baritone, seeming to tremble from the very centre of Cecil’s body straight to Carlos’s bones, like they’re gathering power and strength and force behind them until they can all crash into Carlos’s chest and render him incapacitated. 

He knows, he’s always known, that he’d do anything for Cecil. 

He says, “I love you,” and Carlos can feel the fizzle of potential straight down to his toes. He’s not sure if Cecil feels it too, doesn’t know if Cecil can feel the electricity spinning its way up his spine. Carlos says it again, “I love you,” and this time he’s not sure if it’s to reaffirm it to himself, or to Cecil, or just to feel the surge of energy the words produce.

“I love you, too,” Cecil says. His smile is halfway to molten, and it drips so far into Carlos’s chest cavity it burns, like poison from the serpent’s mouth but he can’t get enough.

Carlos bites his lip. Even his lungs seem to heave under some invisible weight. “Maybe I’d take your urn off of the mantle sometimes.”

It makes Cecil laugh. It also makes his eyes glassy, like if he looks for too long, they’ll shatter into a million beautiful pieces. “Thank you,” he says, quietly, but it echoes off of Carlos’s ribs.

He doesn’t quite know what Cecil’s thanking him for, but Carlos knows why. He’s a hair’s breadth from saying it himself, but Cecil seems to already know, so Carlos just reaches out with his fingertips and lets them brush over Cecil’s shoulder, and that says everything he needs it to. 

**Author's Note:**

> im not QUITE sure where this fits into this sort of verse. maybe in a parallel one? but i knew i wanted to write more with this idea and themes so here we are.
> 
> speaking of, i am currently writing a larger instalment for this whole 'words' verse but idk when thatll be finished. its currently featuring dana and the whispering forest so um... watch this space?!
> 
> let me know ur thoughts! hope ur all doing well. thank u love u.


End file.
